against bright blue: 100 themes challenge
by Biohazard child
Summary: UPDATE! 18 is up now. 100 ficlets and drabbles of Harry & Draco. Updated regularly. 82 left to go!
1. 001: Introduction

WHUT. Yeah, I'm starting a 100 Themes Challenge... I know, I'm ambitious. :) Loads of HPDM to come! (100 Chapters to be exact!!)

_CHALLENGE PAIRING_: HPDM; Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy.

All will be rated M 'cause Draco and Harry swear. A lot. Hahaha.. And sexual scenes implied in some chapters. I'll give a warning beforehand.

* * *

"Speech" _Thoughts_. 'Object.' 

---------------------------------------&---- PoV/scenery change.

* * *

001**Introductions**

Too Tired.

--

Draco Malfoy was sulking.

Yeah, he was actually. The blond man was sitting in his Slytherin dorm, looking up the dungeon ceiling, feeling faintly nostalgic. _He_, a _Malfoy_, was feeling nostalgic. The sentimental feeling didn't even mesh with his name. Though, regardless, he was thinking of how things would have been different if he hadn't been a pretentious bastard seven years ago, on that stupid Express train. Honestly, it would have been easy enough to hold his tongue about the weasel, spoken in a friendlier manner. Whatever. Draco rubbed his eyes, feeling a rush of fatigue grate his system. He was… shit, too tired to think of Potter. Too tired to think of the dark-haired man's bright eyes, his bemused laughter, his light glances towards his friends when they shared a joke. Too tired, damnit.

Though, he remembered the little Harry Potter, and he looked nothing like he did now. On that train, he had been short, a thin face with large, brilliant eyes and disheveled, unruly hair. Now he had grown, lean and muscled from Quidditch, rounded out a few corners, those emerald irises noticeably darker. He still had the askew glasses however, and the cursed hair but there were things that you couldn't change. Draco frowned slightly, his mind being encroached on again by the interminable amount of questions.

What would have happened if he had been more welcoming to Gryffindor Quidditch captain? He had probably reflected that exact moment as Potter snubbed his hand more than a hundred times in the past week… Why? He certainly regretted acting like a magniloquent idiot, but it wasn't like he actually felt a sense of guilt for the Weasel, whom Malfoy still resented them as being the lowest of all purebloods. It was stupid fucking _Potter_, the same man that invaded his thoughts and dreams, the same person who had viciously hexed him last week when Draco had accidentally bumped into him. Yeah, _accidentally._

Huh, too tired indeed.

In the comfortable silk, Malfoy groaned, clutching the pillow over his face, thinking behind lidded eyes. Zabini and all the blokes were probably thinking he had gone bloody insane, cooping himself up in the dorm for the past few days. Even Pansy had remarked on it, but after a particularly fierce _Fernunculus_, she hadn't said anything further. Draco feared that his remorse against Potter was evolving into some kind of _infatuation_, and that, bluntly, scared the shit out of him. He didn't particularly want to find the seeker attractive, and he _certainly_ didn't want him in bed with him right now.

_Damnit_, swore the pale man under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation, _fantastic. I'm having ridiculous thoughts about one boy-who-won't-die, and I can't seem to stop my brain from relating every single fucking detail to him. _

Feeling hazy, the fair man let his muscles relax slightly. Quite honestly, Draco was content with just lying in bed all day, thinking about alternate versions of that train trip. Right now would be a nice time, as his brain was attempting to commit mental suicide with the conflicting thoughts going on. _Yes, _I want Potter_, but I also want him _dead_, pinned underneath me, _so I can snog—no, _kill_ him. Right.

The familiar smoky scent of the train made its way into his mind, and the blond sighed in resignation. Once again...

---------------------------------------&----

He heard the faint conversation going on in the compartment next to him, and Draco Malfoy stopped, giving a faint signal for Crabbe and Goyle to cease walking. The boys pausing, looking at each other with slight confusion but shrugged and halted. The blond child forced himself not to give a disgusted sigh, sliding open the double doors. He had heard about this section, that a certain _Harry Potter_ was there, though he hadn't expected other filth to have followed.

He stopped himself from looking repulsed and put on an easy smile as he entered, looking around innocently.

"Is it true?" Draco chided, glancing at the dark-haired boy with clear interest, "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?" He hoped to himself that the tone was much lighter, one of crystal curiosity rather than one of a haughty fascination. The boy rose a brow, glancing towards Crabbe and Goyle.

_Shit_.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he replied warmly, making the weasel glance at him suspiciously. _Don't sneer, damnit, don't do it._ He allowed himself a cool glare at the redhead before turning back to Harry, presenting himself with a smooth elegance. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

The ginger-haired boy coughed, and the blond turned to him with a brow raised. _Don't say anything... Stopstopstop._ The soon-to-be Slytherin paused, hesitating slightly, but ignored Ron and held out his hand, casually noting the redhead's pallor getting rosier and rosier.

Harry looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded nervously and got up and shook Malfoy's hand in response, much to the horror of the Weasley sitting.

"Um, yeah." Alright, he might be more than a _little _nervous.

"Harry Potter. Uh, nice to meet you, Malfo—"

---------------------------------------&----

"What the hell," said a rather loud voice interrupting the line of thought, a thin smirk lining Zabini's face as he glanced down at Draco, one perfect brow raised in bemusement, "having a good dream were we, Draco?"

The blond opened an eye, frowning, giving the mocha-skinned man a withering look. He hadn't even heard the man come in, too busy drowning in his altered memories.

The paler man didn't reply but turned over, refusing Zabini view of his face, which now wore a pained expression.

_What might have been..._


	2. 002: Love

Rated M for language. Ughh, fluff! XD  
I hate blatant prompts. -cough-

_CHALLENGE PAIRING_: Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy

* * *

"Speech" _Thoughts_. 'Object.' 

---------------------------------------&---- PoV/scenery change.

* * *

002**Love**

No Expectations.

--  


"What do you think of love, Potter?"

The topic had come up rather abruptly, making Harry shy away slightly in surprise.

"Um, what?"

The Malfoy had pursed his lips, giving the man an expectant gaze.

"You heard what I said."

Harry frowned slightly at the question. What kind of question was that? It wasn't like the blond to be so upfront. Then again, it hadn't been like the blond to ask him out on a date either… or pursuing it past that. The Gryffindor had almost thought it was a joke if it hadn't been the somber look that the Slytherin wore. The dark-haired man hesitated, considering his answer. What could he say, really? _Oh Malfoy, I think it's the most beautiful thing ever and—_ uh, no.

"I don't know." Replied the man truthfully, looking upwards. It was cold out… He had been rather surprised when Malfoy had called him out here, to an open balcony, right past the hallway with the statue of _Helena the Harridan_. It was a chilly night, though there was no snow, but the temperature had dipped down, and he was out in his pajamas… And _fuck, _it was cold. In their relationship, the blond had always preferred to stay inside rather than leave the castle, despite the temperature, even if it was warmer outside than in. Now… Everything felt strange tonight. It didn't fit their regularities, the triangle that wouldn't fit into a square.

"Ah." Responded Draco lightly, a faint smile finding its way onto his face. Harry decided he liked that smile, the way it gently tugged his muscles. There were no worry wrinkles around his eyes, or brows where he had most likely furrowed them a few times too many, nothing at all. It was different.

"Are you cold?" asked the blond, voice soft, a snicker arising much to the exasperation of the Gryffindor seeker. He sighed, breath visible as he exhaled slowly. That had totally killed the ambience that he presumed the pale man had attempted to create.

"Yes." replied Harry dourly, a small pout forming. "What are we doing out here anyways?"

"Nothing," answered the man, his tone surprisingly jovial, "just a small test."

"Did I pass?" Harry asked with a grin, brows rising._ Stupid Malfoy foreplay, I guess. It didn't have to be so cold out though…_

"With flying colors," said Draco lazily, looping his arms around the dark-haired man's waist and kissed the Gryffindor Golden Boy, gray irises staring into brilliant green. He almost smirked in the kiss, feeling Potter's chapped lips open up hesitatingly. _Nothing else_…

There was a slight tinkle as a small vial dropped from the Slytherin's grasp, making just a slight noise as it shattered on the cobbled stone, the deadly violet liquid dissolving into the air.

_There was nothing now. No obligations, no expectations. I don't want anything else but him._

"Hmmm," hummed Draco, smiling as he broke off the kiss. "I do believe…"

"What?" Harry's tone was skeptical, perhaps a bit peeved from the short-lived kiss.

The man's silver eyes flickered to the raven-haired seeker, a smirk pulling on full lips.

"That I love you, Potter."


	3. 003: Light

Ahahaha..

Me 'n Witblogi are TIGHT! Props to her of course. :D  
This is a really long oneshot..

Rated M for language.

_CHALLENGE PAIRING_: Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy

* * *

"Speech" _Thoughts_. 'Object.' 

---------------------------------------&---- PoV/scenery change.

* * *

003**Light**

Divestment.

--

"_Shouldn't we wake him up?"_

"_He's asleep though—"_

"_It's almost eight thirty…"_

Harry groaned, his mind buzzing. What the hell? It was early, he had no Quidditch games or matches this morning, and he was _sure _it was only around seven. Damnit, why did they talk so loud?

The man opened an eye groggily, the world blurry in his view. Scarlet... patches of light through the crimson drapes, figures moving.

_Fuck_, thought the man dourly, _way too early… _He scrambled to sit up and parted the curtains, groping the bedside table for his glasses. Who was talking? It sounded like… Yeah, definitely Ron, and who else? Seamus?

"Harry?" asked a voice, and the seeker looked up to see his friend's face.

"What happened?" The raven-haired man asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning. _Something that scared the shit of Ron_, he presumed, looking over to Seamus and noticed that Neville was still asleep. Harry scowled slightly, wondering if he should wake the other adolescent up just to spite him. This scene seemed rather déja-vu from approximately four years ago, though it was morning, and there wasn't a supposed maniacal murderer after him.

"Ron said someone broke into our dorm," replied the sandy-haired man dryly, giving a skeptical glance to the Gryffindor Keeper, his tone sarcastic.

"Someone did!" replied the redhead indignantly, fiddling with the hem of his jumper before turning to Harry.

"You believe me right, mate?" The Weasley's tone was edgy and anxious, his navy eyes turned to the seeker. Harry nodded bluntly and patted his friend on the back, while Seamus rolled his eyes. "I'm sure of it, me and Hermione were… oh." mumbled Ron.

Harry's brows rose slightly, making the ginger-haired man redden a little and he heard Seamus snort.

"Let's just go down to Great Hall to get some breakfast… and uh, Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell Hermione."

The redhead blushed further, a thick wildfire spreading across his cheeks, matching his hair. The idea of Hermione obviously made him that much happier, though. The other two shared a look, which made Harry grin.

---------------------------------------&----

As they entered the Great Hall, Seamus and Ron were quarrelling over whether Ron had actually seen anything, and what he and Hermione were _doing_, which apparently wasn't any of Seamus' business, when Harry was brushed aside by someone who was pushing with an incredible force, making him stumble. He tripped, glasses scattering on the floor with a few faint tinkles as the glass shattered.

"Oops," purred a voice, the girl's eyes twinkling maliciously as Pansy tapped her wand toward the glasses with a quick '_Oculus Reparo _'. "Sorry 'bout that Potter, didn't mean for your glasses to fall off." She picked the spectacles up and handed them to the man. He snatched them from her quickly, and put them back on, scowling. Slytherins, honestly.

He stepped into the Great Hall, as Seamus and Ron had already sat down, when he noticed something very, _very_ odd.

Malfoy was _glowing_.

_What. The. Fuck._

The seeker stared point-blank across the Hall, wondering why the hell no one else noticed it. The Slytherin was talking to Parkinson, who was chatting like she didn't notice a thing. How could you _miss _that aura? It completely surrounded him, making his skin and hair even paler than they had originally were. Hermione and Ron looked worriedly between each other, tracing Harry's gaze to a certain Draco Malfoy.

"Um," Said Ron timidly, interrupting Harry's reverie. "Harry? Are you alright, mate?"

The seeker turned to him, eyes dazed from looking at the glowing man, "What?"

"You're uh, staring at Malfoy. And uh, everyone else is staring at you." He looked slightly confused and a just a bit weirded out. He knew that Harry hated the ferret with a indefinable passion, but this look was just plain _strange. _It was a look of surprise and well, awe. He hadn't seen his friend look at anyone that way before, and it was just… weird, for lack of a better word.

"Oh." replied the raven-haired man, flushing slightly. Then, he realized, Hermione and Ron had just looked at Malfoy, and hadn't commented on it. Come on, it was so _blatant_! He was the brightest thing in the hall, and looked almost... ethereal. And as Harry admitted that, he felt his throat close slightly. Damnit, was that a compliment towards the Slytherin? God… Yeah, something was definitely up. Maybe that intruder _was _there, and had hexed him to feel more compassionate towards assholes like the pale man.

That had to be it. There was no reason he'd think Malfoy was actually _pretty_ unless it was under false pretenses.

"Don't you guys see it?" The question left his lips before he could think about the circumstances, and his friends turned to him, a quizzical look on their faces.

"What?"

"Malfoy's like... glowing."

Hermione and Ron blinked. They averted their glances to the Slytherin Head Boy who was now squabbling with Zabini across the table, face contorted with rage at something the dark man had said. As far as they could see, it was just Malfoy looking pissed off as ever, not particularly brighter than usual.

"What?" They asked again, looking up at Harry, a dumbfounded expression written on their face.

Hermione bit her lip, confused and just a _tad_ bit worried.

"Harry..." she began, hoping her words wouldn't offend, "Malfoy's not glowing..."

The bespecled man gaped back at them.

"B-But—" he pointed directly to the blond man, teeth gritted, "Hermione, look at him, and tell me he's not bloody glowing!" The man's voice had raised a few notches, and it boomed across the hall now. A few Professors had paused, and the chatter in the Great Hall had stopped completely. Every head turned to the Gryffindor, and he felt his cheeks heat up faintly.

Draco had stopped bickering with Blaise, his silver eyes flickering to Harry, a sense of intrigue in those pale irises.

Harry swallowed thickly, suddenly finding his throat dry. The man lowered his hand and sat down, face tinged a rosy pink. Ron pulled at the collar of his gray vest, and Hermione coughed, casting her eyes downwards. There was an uneasy silence before the bustle of the Great Hall initiated again, and Harry was strangely breathless, left with an uneasy overwhelming sense of divestment at the hands of a certain Draco Malfoy.

---------------------------------------&----

The day wore on, and much to Harry's chagrin, he shared two classes with the cursed ferret; Potions and Defense against the Dark Arts. He could see that obnoxious aura for the rest of the day, and it bothered his eyes. He had realized that no one else seemed to be able to see it, which made everything all the more annoying, as Harry would sometimes twitch when Malfoy moved to a particularly evident spot. He knew Hermione and Ron were concerned, and the woman had tried every charm and hex remover to displace the glow. Nothing worked however, and the aura followed the blond man persistently, not that it troubled him much.

Draco had perceived Harry's agitation, obviously noting his existence was vexing the seeker, had made himself rather blatant in the man's view, enjoying watching Harry flinch whenever he came near. His face wore an almost permanent smirk, finding amusement as Harry glared at him reproachfully.

When the man finally retired to the common rooms, he had never felt so tired in his life. His eyes felt more fatigued than he did, and he exhaled, trying to clear his thoughts. There was no way he could stand whatever this thing was for a few more days, his eyes felt raw and burning after just one. The man left out an exasperated groan, his head full of strange ideas and thoughts.

Even if Draco Malfoy was the most annoying thing that had ever lived, Harry had to admit grudgingly, he was really, _really _beautiful. Even in his reluctance, he had studied the pale man carefully, even in his blazing arrogance, and found the Slytherin exceedingly handsome.

He had a sinking feeling that this wouldn't end well; for him, or for Malfoy.

---------------------------------------&----

The next few days wore him down slowly, and Harry seriously considered going to a Professor for help now. No one seemed able to do anything about Harry's cursed eyes; Hermione had stayed up past midnight on some days trying to help him find something. Nothing worked. Ron had suspected that it was some dark magic, but Harry had thought otherwise, it wasn't like there was some evil curse, putting a glowing aura around your worst enemy, though it _may_ drive him crazy. McGonagall had started to notice his spasms but hadn't remarked on it, at least not _yet_.

Snape, if he had noticed or not, did not say anything, but seemed to find it amusing to pair him next to Malfoy whenever he got the opportunity now. It seemed the Potions Master had picked up on Potter's freshly dug abhorrence of the Slytherin, and found it right up his lane to irritate the 'boy-who-lived' without suffering consequences. Perfect.

Harry realized, in the midst of it all, with quite a bit of horror, he was slowly becoming infatuated with the Slytherin, and this perception scared him more than any Dark Arts. He, _Harry Potter_ was infatuated with local tyrannical pureblood bastard; _Draco Malfoy_. Though, he knew it was infatuation and nothing else; Malfoy was still a haughty ass, and Potter knew and didn't particularly want to know anything about Malfoy's personality, likes and dislikes and so fourth. He knew, that all it was, was an attraction to Draco bloody Malfoy because the pureblood was so effeminate; it really didn't make him gay anyways.

Yeah, so much for that.

He hadn't told Hermione or Ron either, or anyone else for that matter, simply because he knew what their reactions would be: Hermione would most likely start comforting him, and reassuring him it was simply a short attraction, and it would go away, while Ron would start to hyperventilate with thoughts that his best friend was suddenly infatuated with some demon ferret.

_Comforting_, thought Harry, vexation and desperation working its way into his system. He really, really, _really_ didn't want to think about it at the moment. Sorting out hormones wasn't exactly number one on his list, as it most likely followed, _1. Kill Voldemort, 2. Live. 3. Defeat Slytherin for House Cup. 4. Defeat Slytherin for Quidditch Cup. 5. Become an Auror. 6. Hunt down and kill Bellatrix. 7. Make sure Hermione and Ron hook up properly. 8. Snog Mal—_

No.

He stopped himself from thinking the last point, nervously glancing around if anyone had caught his thoughts. Of course not, how could they? The embers of the fire flickered lower now, and Harry felt himself drugged by fatigue. He could hardly drag himself up the stairs to the boy's dorm before collapsing, full clothed on his bed.

---------------------------------------&----

Wednesday… Thursday… Friday. It passed like a blur. Harry had almost gotten used to the sting of his eyes around Malfoy, the aura still very much there, but it no longer affected his irises as much. It was still irritating, the Head Boy was still very much a bright figure, but it vexed him less now. Draco had stopped bothering Harry as much as well, seeing as there was no sport in it as Harry became much more passive around him. No more twitches or flinches or crazy eye strokes. He found it rather boring now, seeing as Potter had flinched before, whenever Draco had even come close to him. The feeling had been oddly gratifying.

On this particular Friday, as all Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh year left Defense Against the Dark Arts, Malfoy had been intending to return to the Prefects dorm, where he could finish the particularly annoying assignment Professor Horncastle had instigated on them; when he was cornered, but none other than Harry Potter.

He heard the man swear quietly, and Draco assumed it was his '_glowing_' again, and smirked, opening his mouth to speak.

Whatever words he had were promptly swallowed as the dark-haired seeker crushed a bruising kiss against his lips, and Draco felt teeth on teeth and faintly groaned, his coherency melting away quickly. What the hell was Potter playing at; this wasn't the sort of play that the blond had expected. It almost seemed… Slytherinesque. Take the other's weakness and force them into it with no rejection.

The kiss wasn't short; thank Merlin for that. He knew rather plainly that he was not supposed to enjoy a snog with Harry Potter, their Dark Lord's enemy, the reason for his downfall, but here he was in some tower corridor, kissing the Gryffindor hero as if it didn't mean a thing. Draco thought remotely, almost detached, that he liked the way Harry Potter tastes.

The raven-haired man pulled away, panting, his eyes brighter than Draco had ever seen them. The thin glasses perched at the tip of his nose, and they slipped off, once again tumbling to the ground. Draco heard a faint _fuck!_, and couldn't help smirking slightly as Potter looked up in aggravation...

…and found Draco Malfoy was no longer glowing.

The Slytherin treated his surprise as a perverse form of awe and treated the raven-haired man to a rare grin, possibly the first and only one Potter would ever see.

"Like that, did you Potter? Snogging boys?"

Harry did a quick _oculus reparo_ on the spectacles, returning them to his face. Yep, no more glow.

"As a matter of fact, Malfoy, I think I did."

And with that, he left, picking up the quill and text he had quickly dropped in the corridor, and walked back up to the Gryffindor Tower, with a very large grin, and a sense of warmth in his heart.

* * *

OH WHATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT. Finally updated? 

Yeah. I dunno. Bad/cheesy ending :( Sorry. Hahaha?

You can figure it out if Harry found out he needed to have a good snog with the Head Boy to eliminate the glow, or if just… y'know, wanted to.  
Yeah, Pansy has like WAI TOO MUCH FUN.

THIS IS WAY TOO LONG. D:  
R&R is loved. :) You guys keep me updatin'


	4. 004: Dark

Yeah whut.

Moar Draco angst. M'sorry, I love him so. D:  
Next ch hopefully will be better? XD

No beta or whatev, grammar mistakes and stuff are prone.

_CHALLENGE PAIRING_: Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy

* * *

"Speech" _Thoughts_. 'Object.' 

---------------------------------------&---- PoV/scenery change.

* * *

004**Dark**

Corners.

--

Draco had always been afraid of the dark.

He _knew _it was uncharacteristic, he _knew _it was stupid and childish and everything a future Death Eater was not.

Yet, he still feared it.

He knew how to bottle up his dread, how to push it down, how to make sure that no one else knew about it. Draco Malfoy could seal off his emotions, bury them, hide them from everyone that was watching—

--except Harry Potter.

In that aspect, the Gryffindor was very much like the dark, and the shadows, and everything that had haunted him when he had been small. The dinginess broke his barriers, stole his eyes, freezes his heartbeats.

Potter does the same.

He hates it, he hates the way the man's bright green eyes make him feel diminutive and bare, but it also makes him _giddy_, knowing that the proclaimed Hero's eyes are only on him, for that moment in time anyways. Then they flicker away, to someone else's face, to someone else's attention. Not his.

Not Draco's.

Realization; if he feared the dark, he feared Harry Potter.

_That_ was a hard pill to swallow.

He knew that the emerald-eyed man was dismally powerful, holding himself in mentality and magic. Draco knew he could not and would not measure up.

So then, was Harry Potter the dark?

Why was that so strange? Because Potter couldn't be associated with the dark, with small closets, with unlit and lightless corners. No, the gallant 'boy-who-lived' was pure, chaste, innocent. White, bright and lucid, an angel to the entire wizarding population.

But that wasn't how Draco saw him; he knew Potter's eyes would shift sometimes, their brightness falling away; the luster he so convincingly put on would deteriorate, leaving behind only the somber shell.

And quite frankly; Draco liked him like that.


	5. 005: Seeking Solace

Warning; implied sex scene, lol. Not exactly explicit or anything. EE;  
I still dunno how to classify this..

:(!

_CHALLENGE PAIRING_: Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy

* * *

"Speech" _Thoughts_. 'Object.'

---------------------------------------&---- PoV/scenery change.

* * *

005**Seeking Solace**

Bits and Pieces.

--

"_Fuck _Malfoy—"

There was scramble of limbs, a groan and fingers gripping blond locks. Harry felt his legs buckle, and he swore gently, resting back onto the silk, feeling somewhat gratified and burdened at the same time. He lay still for a few seconds, panting, staring at the dark mahogany of the four-posted bed. The Slytherin grunted slightly, and moved next to Harry, eyes closed, exhaling and inhaling.

There was an awkward ambience around them, and Draco paused, opening his eyes to give a furtive glance at the Gryffindor.

"What's up Potter?"

"…What?"

"You're tense."

"No, I'm—"

"—yes, you are." The Slytherin sighed, pulling up the raven-haired man into his arm's length, stopping to click his tongue in fake sympathy.

"Quite frankly Potter, I couldn't give a shit about your _emotions_," Draco said the word with such disdain that Harry couldn't help but snort gently, "but if it's going to ruin the atmosphere of sexual bliss, I'll have to ask." He mumbled this quietly with a tinge of dark mirth in his voice, chin propped on top of the other's head, feeling the black locks tickle his chin in a disturbingly cozy way.

The seeker grinned despite the turmoil of emotions brewing in his chest, feeling his heartstrings being pulled on painfully. _Purely physical_.

"I just wish I wasn't the fucking hero sometimes." replied Harry softly; wondering if the blond was even listening at all. He had already stated quite bluntly that he couldn't be more apathetic about 'feelings'.

"Hmm," Draco heard bits and pieces of Harry's ramble, feeling tired and rather satisfied. He knew that Potter was undergoing continuous stress and threat of personal security, but this was the first time the man had ever mentioned it. The reason? Draco had no clue.

"You're not being a hero right now."

"I am, to be shagging you." retorted the Gryffindor tartly while Draco made a sour face, which was slowly replaced by a faint smile.

"Perhaps." The man's tone was light, carefree. There was nothing to worry about for the moment, and Draco watched Harry's chest fall up and down slowly, a sense of ignorant content settling in. He knew that happiness came hand in hand with stupidity… But this felt so much better than being suspicious or paranoid about what was going on; why his Father hadn't contacted him in months, why he had no clue of what was going on… So much better.

There was something strange about the situation, as it usually didn't happen. Potter would return to his dormitory, tell the Weasel and Mudblood some believable alibis and continue on with the normal schedule. Potter generally did not linger.

"I wonder if Zabini or Nott ever suspect anything..."

"That's what the _Silencio_ is for, Potter."

"Fine, I wonder how they'd feel about unconsciously being in the same room as a wild shag is going on," Harry said, feeling the man's jaw muscles clench into a grin above him.

"They'd probably want to watch then," replied Malfoy, his tone matter-of-fact, a snigger behind the airy tone. That probably was true enough though, considering Nott was sexually depressed and Zabini was just a horny bastard.

The couple stopped talking, simply reveling in a warm comfort for the time being. Harry felt his lids getting heavy, and the raven-haired man marveled silently on how they could just lay in bed, slick with sweat, cum and various other bodily fluids without feeling dirty or irritant about the mess. The wand was under the pillow.. A _Tergeo_ spell would work just fine… His arms felt like lead, and Harry groaned, attempting to move his dead-weight limbs.

"Take a damn shower tomorrow…" croaked Malfoy next to him, vexed by the movement. Harry nodded in resignation, and ceased any efforts to reach the wand.

"Night, Potter…" said Draco wearily, feeling gravity drag his eyelids downwards.

"Thank you." replied Harry, voice quiet, and he wondered if the other man had even heard it. But regardless, the Gryffindor felt he owed him at _least_ a thanks for listening… Just this once. It was nice feeling this strange, unusual warmth, rather than the usual bitterness that flooded his heart.

_This relationship… is purely physical._

_Nothing more, nothing less._

Malfoy nodded without a sound, silent acknowledgement at the man's thanks.

"Mmmh, anytime."


	6. 006: Break Away

Moar angst… Boo, I know. XD  
Augh, I dunno. It's sort of post-HBP but y'know… It's still HPDM so it's like… not.  
(confusion)

* * *

_CHALLENGE PAIRING_: Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy 

"Speech" _Thoughts_. 'Object.'

---------------------------------------&---- PoV/scenery change.

* * *

006**Break Away**

Null and Void.

--

Harry Potter was running.

Hard and fast, making his heart pound painfully in his chest, the man's footsteps echoed faintly through the Hogwarts fields. Where was the Quidditch shed? He needed his broom. The man had a small duffle bag of items and his wand. All he needed to face Voldemort this time, maybe the last time.

The man stopped short, panting, his breathe visible in the chill air, clutching the wooden wand tightly in his grasp.

There would be no need to go to Hogwarts, no need to find Hermione and Ron, no need to alert anyone that he was leaving.

Either he or Voldemort had to die… Or both. The man swallowed, eyes stinging which made his glasses fog up slightly. He didn't want to do this… Oh god. He didn't want to die; he didn't want to be the world's saviour, he didn't want to leave the only home he ever had, he didn't want to leave... Draco.

Because if he left, he knew that their relationship would become null and void, and Draco would forget him and finally join his Father's ranks and become Harry's enemy; and everything they had done together, every breathe, every word... would be gone.

His eyebrows furrowed in anxiety, and Harry sobered up.

This was his only chance.

One horcrux left; the one horcrux that sat with the Dark Lord. Nagini. And then, Voldemort himself... The last piece of soul.

That would mean a final confrontation…

Voldemort had been probing his mind for the past few hours, fervently searching for him, and Harry knew he expected him now. He was never any good at Occlumens, even after some tutorials by Draco, who unexpectedly was an expert at it. The Gryffindor had resigned, letting the Lord scrutinize his brain, his thoughts. All of him was laid out bare, and Harry couldn't do a thing.

His throat closed, and Harry felt a wave of nausea mixed with dread drench his veins. The man closed his eyes, feeling a sob arise alarmingly from his chest. He frowned slightly, and turned back to look at the school for the last time, before he fled to chase down the thing that had killed his parents, so many loved ones... Chasing death.

"Damnit Draco… everyone… I'm sorry."


	7. 007: Heaven

Augh haha...

I don't know. XD Sorry it's so long.. and uh, pointless. Fluff? Yuh.

_CHALLENGE PAIRING_: Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy

* * *

"Speech" _Thoughts_. 'Object.' 

---------------------------------------&---- PoV/scenery change.

* * *

007**Heaven**

Rain All Day.

--

It was too bright today.

The sun was in the sky with no clouds in sight, and no rain to be predicted for at least another week. The sky was a deep azure, painting a beautiful gradient on the domed horizon.

"Fuck." spat Draco, venom spraying from his voice. He _hated_ bright happy days, god. He honestly thought a unicorn was going to show up in Horncastle's Defense class and start to prance around while a rainbow merrily fell through the window, and the class would suddenly light up and they'd all dance around a may pole with silver colored ribbons.

...Alright then.

The mocha-skinned man beside him gave him a strange look, his amber eyes watching the blond man, who turned to Zabini, an irritant glare plastered across the usual amused face.

"What?" he snapped, making Blaise back up slightly, a bemused smirk pulling on full lips.

"The rabbits and unicorns and sunlight vexing you, Malfoy?"

"No." replied the man tartly, his silver eyes flickering outside the window, where a stream of sunlight had filtered in. He frowned, as the ray fell _directly_ on his arm, which was covered by a black robe, and was heating up rather rapidly. The blond swore again, and shifted towards the wall, away from Zabini. There was a low chuckle, and Draco prominently wished that Defense against the Dark Arts class would end. It was stupidly in a rather high classroom with a good number of open windows, which allowed the open transfer of sunlight and warmth, both things that annoyed the Malfoy to no end.

He looked rather miffed, looking his robe and scanning the text carefully, blocking out the ramblings of the mad Professor at the front of the room. He was... really strange, to say the least. Exceedingly enthusiastic, he often enjoyed releasing random monsters and spells on them, expecting the class to cope.

Draco scanned the class for what seemed like the twentieth time, hovering over a few Slytherin faces and across the Gryffindors. Most of them were watching Horncastle with rapt attention. _Idiots_. The gangly teacher was more insane than Dumbledore, and was probably more eccentric, if it were possibly. Mudblood... Weasel... Longbottom... All idiots. His gray eyes lingered on a man on the other side of the classroom, laughing with the Finnigan boy about something while Weasley turned red again.

_Potter_.

Harry turned, and Malfoy felt his heart lurch slightly as the man caught his gaze, returning the fleeting glance with bright green irises, a faint smirk forming on those lips.

His heart racing, Draco turned away, hoping he didn't look as fazed as he felt. The Gryffindor always had such a tentative grip of him, even though he was lacking in intellect and had the fashion sense of a rodent.

_Breathe, Draco_, he told himself in exasperation, seeing Blaise watching him with piqued interest. No doubt he had seen and noted that small but warm exchange which made the Head Boy rather uncomfortable, fidgeting slightly as he felt amber eyes analyze him lazily.

_Good fucking job_, Draco thought dryly, very tempted to throw himself out of the window beside him. _Now _he _suspects something. Bloody perfect._

---------------------------------------&----

Forty-three minutes, a dozen hexes, a dropped eagle quill and a ruined robe later, Draco Malfoy was sitting on a bench in the Hogwarts courtyard, frowning as he shielded himself from the sunlight, and performing _Tergeo_ spells on his clothes, which were drenched with black ink. There were still stains though, and if that wasn't perfect enough, these were his last set, which meant another trip to Hogsmeade soon. His parents would not be pleased, but it wasn't his fault anyways. Weasley and his deformed hex had hit the Slytherin table so viciously, it had tipped over his entire desk, spilling ink all across him _and_ his thirteen inch report for History of Magic.

Bad things happened on bright, sunny days like this.

_Git,_ thought the man with venom, looking at his black robe carefully. The ink was gone, and you couldn't tell it was stained, considering it was dark... But still. It was ruined. Maybe he'd give it to Weasley as a souvenir, he'd probably marvel over the quality and workmanship because he couldn't afford better.

Draco's lips curled in a slight sneer, thinking about the scene.

A form had arrived in the corner of his eye as Harry arrived in the courtyard, giving Draco a mock sympathetic look. The blond looked up, pursing his lips. Damnit.

"You look a bit grumpy, _Draco_." There was mirth in his voice as he said his first name, and the pale man sighed, giving Potter a condescending look.

"Yeah yeah Potter, real funny. Hysterical." replied the Slytherin Head Boy dourly, holding up the black robe to inspect it.

A light snort. "You shouldn't look so sour on a nice day," he replied mildly, taking a seat on the bench. Draco shifted automatically, moving away from the Gryffindor seeker, shrugging the robe on again. It'll have to do until the next Hogsmeade visit. "It's almost like... paradise here. Warm and bright."

"Paradise?" asked the Head Boy, raising a brow, his voice steeped with faint disgust. "Yeah Potter, sorry to break it to you, but _Hogwarts_ doesn't come close to paradise."

"Whatever. It's nice for me, warm too." answered the raven-haired man quietly, eyes closed as he stretched. "This is what heaven would be like..."

"Not a chance," Draco's tone was lighter this time, a chuckle hidden behind a scowl. "It would rain all day in heaven."

Harry pried an eyelid open, giving the blond an amused look. "Only you, Malfoy."

A shuffle of material, cloth leaving the surface. Harry opened his eyes to catch gray irises staring back at him, warm lips brushing against another's, fireworks running through his veins. A faint smile appeared on the blond's lips.

Maybe rainless days weren't _too_ bad.


	8. 008: Tower

**A/N:** WHAT IS THIS? AN UPDATE?

Impossible.

* * *

008**Tower**

Sorrow.

--

_Astronomy Tower, 11:00PM._

_Make sure none of your Gryffindor house-idiots follow you._

Harry crumpled the parchment into a small ball viciously, earning a small frown from Hermione, who pursed her lips but said nothing and a stupefied look from Ron.

"'Arry? You alright, mate?"

The man tried to give a smile, but it broke into a crooked smirk that looked much too wry for the great 'Boy-who-lived'. He shot a sharp glare at the person who had just sent the piece of paper his way, in the form of a particularly vicious looking paper-rat that gnawed at his ankle.

Draco Malfoy.

His teeth clenched slightly at the thought of the blond, incinerating the note below his desk before Snape noticed.

Go to the fucking Astronomy Tower? _Alone_? Yeah, _huuge _chance of that, meeting Malfoy, he and his pouf of a dad working for the one person who wants to see him dead. Uh-huh. Because even though he had done some pretty illogical things in the past, meeting his arch-rival in a secluded environment with no back-up seemed just a bit _too_ moronic for him.

Harry said nothing of the note, and went back to this Wertroot potion, to which Snape was passing snide potions on its consistency. The man scowled but said nothing and added the shredded bits of salamander tail, making the concoction froth violently before settling into a deep maroon hue. It reminded him of that sweater Mrs. Weasley had gotten him…

Meanwhile, half way across the room, Malfoy frowned, while Zabini, who looked curiously interested, kept his lips closed. The blonde coughed and returned to his potion while Snape smiled slightly and nodded at both of their draughts in approval.

"So what was that about, Malfoy?"

"Nothing."

"You sent something to Potter, that's not _nothing_."

"It is if I say it is Zabini, drop it."

They continued on in silence, but Draco's mind was churning furiously. All right, so Potter had gotten rid of the note… would he comply with it? He _did _have that huge ego; perhaps he couldn't afford _not_ to go.

Potter had better go.

Everything was riding on it.

---------------------------------------&----

_What the fuck, Harry_.

What?

_You're going_.

Yeah, I am.

_WHY?_

Because.

_Because?_

Go away… I don't need a 2nd conscience, I know what I'm doing is really…

_Stupid?_

Go away.

The voice flittered away, and Harry scowled as it disappeared, his hands grasping the banner as he perused the stairs. What was he doing… Going to meet Malfoy? At night? In the Astronomy Tower?!

Really. It was a bit irrational.

The invisibility cloak fluttered slightly under his feet. He had grown yet again in his last year at Hogwarts, and the shawl no longer aptly covered him so he had to crouch. It was slightly uncomfortable.

As he approached the Tower door, Harry felt himself hesitate. _Okay… Look at this rationally… You're stepping into a place where Malfoy could have easily placed a trap for you so that Voldemort can kill you. Hell, there might be a couple hundred Death Eaters in that Tower, and you wouldn't even know it!_

The brunet's hand flitted over the rich wood and he pushed it open slowly, making the hinges creak in that particularly annoying way.

The door opened, revealing the blonde looking outside one of the many windows. Malfoy jumped, and looked over his shoulder, silver eyes flickering around for any sign of Potter.

There was none.

Harry cackled silently and maneuvered himself out of sight and contact. Ok… Malfoy was alone. Alone? Why would he be alone… Regardless, it'd be fun to scare the Slytherin shitless.

He pushed one of the telescopes on the right side of Malfoy violently; the instrument clashed onto the floor making the lens shatter. Harry jumped back and watched Malfoy's irises wave around the room frantically, a pale pallor collecting on his face.

After wrecking a few objects later and making the Slytherin blanche, Harry knelt, watching the blond, wondering why he hadn't left yet. He looked a little angry, rather scared… The Gryffindor was surprised that he didn't really get the familiar fuzzy feeling when he tormented Malfoy, at least, not in this situation. Draco had stuttered a few words but besides that, had simply said nothing and kept his lips in a hard line, eyes every-so-often returning to the door.

Was Malfoy waiting for him?

The presumption made Harry's heart leap slightly, and he scowled, feeling his face turn slightly pink. What did he think? Malfoy wasn't waiting to have a friendly talk with him… But he hadn't brought his wand, either. Harry realized with disdain as he clutched his own cherry, that he may have overlooked the fact that Malfoy wasn't going to maul and kill him.

He should leave.

Really, it'd be a very good time. Just leave Malfoy, turn away, go back down the stairs and go back to the dorms, sleep.

But he really… really… couldn't.

_Damnit, _thought Harry with irritance, _you're back._

_Yeah_, his conscience replied, sounding rather pleased and smug, _I am. Since Malfoy's all unarmed and not being a git like usual, just go ask him what he wants. With no fuck in there either, thanks._

_I really think I should leave._

_I really think you shouldn't_

_I think I should._

Harry got up slowly, making sure the robe still covered him and walked slowly to the entrance, reaching his arm out for the door to close it behind him. He swore as the cloak unraveled from his shoulders, revealing his face and the upper part of his torso.

Draco froze.

Harry's instincts were to bolt. _Run, run!!_ It told him. But he couldn't. His legs were rooted to the spot, half of his legs invisible as the cloak covered him partially.

"Potter?"

His voice sounded strangely strangled, as if he had dreaded the man's coming. It would have been funny in any other situation.

"Mmmhmm—" was all Harry was able to mumble out before the blonde had slammed the Tower door shut, giving Harry a steely look.

"Dammit Potter, did you do all this shit?" The man pointed to overturned desks and various telescopes. "I was just hoping for once you wouldn't be a _moron_—"

"—yeah and what was I supposed to think, you git? Oh I'm going to waltz into the Tower with Malfoy and his Death Eater friends and—"

"—I just wanted to talk to you—" Draco paused, his voice softer. "I'm going to be initiated soon, Potter."

Harry stepped back. It was instinct. "W-wait, what? Why the fuck are you telling me this? I'm not going to _congratulate_ you, Malfoy; I can't believe you summoned me here for this… you want to rub it in my face that you'll be hunting after me?"

The blond's frown deepened slightly and his brows furrowed. "No. Potter…"

There was a pregnant pause.

"I don't want to kill you. Nothing close."

Harry was taken a-back. "Uh. Alright. Then… why—"

The blond stepped forward and Harry felt the soft brush of lips on lips as Malfoy kissed him. The Slytherin's lips were soft and warm, albeit a little chapped. The sorrow was subtle and a little melancholic, and as Draco stepped back, he said only two words.

"I'm sorry."

_Malf—_

And suddenly, Harry's world dissolved into a rush of black.


	9. 009: Smile

**A/N: **I apologize for the quality of some of these fics, lawl. I swear I'll get up to par… soon? Ehh… Trying to get back into the writing groove is hard.

Thanks everyone, for waiting. :) I'll start rewriting Alice Syndrome asap... I just need to get some muse back.

009**Smile**

Genuine.

--

Harry caught a smile one day.

It shocked him, to say the least. Really, it shouldn't, but it did. It was just strange but not unpleasant—like an ugly fruit you had expected to be bitter, but had turned out to be sweet.

But unlike this analogy, Draco Malfoy wasn't anywhere near ugly.

The smile wasn't towards him, of course, there was no reason that Malfoy would smile at him like that—there was too much raw joy in it to have been directed at the Gryffindor. The fact made Harry's heart sting a little for a split second. The smile had been fleeting too; gone within a second, only to be replaced with that trademark emotionless sneer.

To be truthful, he almost felt like he had intruded on something private when he saw that smile—it was too intimate to have been seen by just anyone, especially not Malfoy's archrival.

But nevertheless, he had spied it from the corner of his eye as Malfoy had descended the stairs to attend their shared Potions class, walking across the joining hallways to the dungeons. Ron and Hermione were bickering in the back about Lavender—something about her being indecent or something. The Slytherin had been alone for once, without his cronies and Parkinson... he almost looked lonely. The blond was clutching a piece of parchment—Harry wished he knew what it was—and as he folded it up before stopping before the stairs, he smiled.

Harry swore his heart skipped a beat.

Malfoy's expression changed immediately as he noted the Golden Trio, passing a snide remark on the "poor mudblood couple" before strolling into the Potions classroom. Ron had combusted into rage while Hermione tried to hold him back, the brunet had simply said nothing and clutched his bag tighter.

No one had seen it.

No one but Harry.

And now, the smile was intriguing him. It was an understatement, _intriguing_, as it had been the only thing the Seeker had thought about all day. He wasn't an obsessive person either—few things interested him past the cautionary level. Hermione had given him a strange look at dinner, which he ignored, and as he lay on his bed thinking, he still couldn't unravel it. A _smile_ shouldn't fascinate him—he saw Draco Malfoy smile every day, for various reasons. There was nothing different about this. There was no deep meaning into it either; Malfoy had simply been genuine happy for a split moment. Why was that unusual? It wasn't. Really. Even someone like Malfoy had moments of true happiness—perhaps the Slytherin had managed to condense it into a small smile.

But why… did he remember it so clearly?

Draco Malfoy was nothing special.

The smile was nothing special.

It didn't matter.

It _shouldn't_ matter.

And that was all there was to it.

------------&---

As Malfoy shoved into him the next day for another dose of double Potions, telling him "to get the fuck out of his way", Harry stopped and looked at him, straight in those pale, silver eyes… and smiled.


	10. 010: Sacrifice

**A/N: **Gosh. I don't know what's up with all this angst. 100 word challenge.

* * *

010**Sacrifice**

Bright.

--

Draco could hear the ringing in his ears.

Why was there nothing left…? Nothing but blackness and chains and blood.

Voldemort laughs, crushing a hand under a powerful foot. Draco wants to scream, struggle… anything. But there is nothing left to do.

"Potter?" He asks softly, slits flaring in disdain at the name.

Potter.

Harry.

Draco winces.

"WHERE?" snarls the dark lord again, crimson eyes flickering in anger. A flick of the wand brings pain, more than Draco would imagine. How could three syllables bring so much anguish?

"Not… here."

His heart throbs and sinks lower, and suddenly… bright green.


	11. 011: Expectations

**A/N: **Something cracky and nonsensical, for once. Wtfleek, haha.

* * *

011**Expectations**

Unappealing.

Harry woke up to whisperings at the edge of his bed. He frowned, rubbing his eyes and groping around for his glasses.

His heart almost stopped when the two people—_things?_—looked up.

"Harry!" They both said in unison, eyes glowing bright silver.

His parents were hovering above his bed, smiling warmly and looking positively ghostly. Harry blinked. Surely, he was dreaming? There was no way… The woman's bright auburn hair was dimmed, and they both looked rather transparent and desaturated, but still had specks of color here and there.

"Mum…? Dad…?" The Gryffindor swallowed, eyes burning. What were his parents going to say to him? A warning against Voldemort, perhaps? Maybe they'd tell him of some secret weapon he could use to defeat the Dark Lord…

"Hi Harry," replied Lily, smile growing. "We don't have long to chat, this projection is _so_ expensive, and we just wanted to chat about your relationship—"

"—WHAT DO YOU SEE IN MALFOY?" James burst out, his brows furrowing in a look of despair. "His dad is really nothing special, either, and I doubt he'd like you, seriously Harry, if you ever get the chance to get with a gir—"

"—what your father is saying," interrupted Lily, throwing a flicker of a glare at her husband, "is that we totally support your relationship with Draco, but… You know, even though we're not in his plane, it'd be nice if you ever, well, we'd like a grandchild…"

Harry blinked nervously. "Wait… how do you know about me and uh… Malfoy…"

"That's not important." Replied Lily with a weak smile. "Anyways… we're not asking you to—"

"Yes, we are Lily, dear. Harry, would you please shag a girl? I mean, if she doesn't get pregnant the first time, it's fine—" James was grinning as he said it, winking at his son.

Harry's mother looked positively scandalized at the elder Potter's crude request, and flushed slightly. "—JAMES! Harry, we're not pressuring you or anything, but it's every parent's dream to have a grandchild, even if we're… not quite alive."

"Umm…" started the Seeker, "It's a'ight, mum, I got what dad was saying… and yeah… I just… haven't really thought about it?" How could he respond? It wasn't everyday your parents showed up and asked you to go knock up some girl.

"Y'know, Lily, it's a bit… sad when we have to beg our son to have sex with a girl." James shook his head slightly.

Harry's face tinged at the statement. Alright, it _was_ a bit weird… and it wasn't like the concept of having sex with a woman wasn't _unappealing_, but he hadn't thought of kids… and probably wouldn't… for a long time, at the very least.

"How are you guys talking to me?" Asked Harry quickly, embarrassed by the topic. "You guys… aren't ghosts, right?"

"Oh, no," said Lily quickly, waving the notion off like an annoying fly, "we can spend a couple hundred galleons to connect with the human world… it's really expensive though, so we've got a tiny window. We could have bought another house here with the money we're using…"

"Here?" You could spend galleons in… heaven? Or wherever there were?

"Oops, our time's up, Harry… We've got to go back now. Remember, we love you, and we'll watch over you, alright?" Lily's voice was already fading away fast. Their images started to fizzle out, lines disconnecting as their image stopped transferring.

"And remember, Harry, BANG A GIRRRR--LLLL…" His father's said, laughing, voice faded through the air, leaving a slight echo bouncing between the curtains of his Four-poster bed.

Harry stared at the ceiling where his parents had just hovered, voice caught in his throat. He wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, he reassured himself. It was probably that strange tasting pumpkin pie he had had at dinner…

That had to be it.

Because nobody's parents would come from the afterlife to convince him to shag a girl, right?


	12. 012: Happiness

**A/N:** I honestly have no motivation to do Alice Syndrome atm. :( This is inspired from my own bedroom and how much I love my bed in the afternoon naps. Fluff wins, totally.

* * *

012**Happiness**

A Few More.

--

Harry felt warmth soak into his back and opened an eye groggily, only to be met with sparse sunshine that filtered in between the cracks in his curtains. The whole bed was flooded with gold and maroon, the crimson resulting from the thick drapings.

The Gryffindor rubbed his eyes and turned around, raising an dark eyebrow at the man beside him.

Malfoy was sleeping there—it wasn't a shock or anything, but more of a pleasant surprise, that Harry woke up and found him there. He usually didn't stay. The light were framing his pale eyelashes into a translucent gold, hair a stark white, skin flecked with maroon as the curtains brushed against the blankets. Draco looked very different when he was asleep—there was no scowl on his lips or furrowed brows from sneering. All defenses dropped.

The dark-haired man reached out to fumble for his glasses, grazing over the blond's shoulder, making the Slytherin stir slightly. Harry sighed, pushing the thin spectacles up his nose and propped his cheek on his arm and waited.

Draco yawned—Harry noticed the lack of arms before a sharp pinch at his sides told him exactly where they went. The Seeker frowned, wrestling the blond's arms under the blankets while Malfoy snickered, bringing his limbs above the blankets and snuggling into his personal headrest between Harry's neck and shoulder.

"Morning." Said the Slytherin drowsily, smiling like a satisfied cat. Harry tried to hold his scowl, but it didn't last.

A few more minutes would be alright.


	13. 013: Rainbow

**A/N:** WHAT. UPDATES? I'unno, I'm writing…? This ficlet might be slightly déjavu? It's raining here. :(

* * *

013**Rainbow**

Pressure.

--

There was pandemonium in the Great Hall. Screaming, snickers, colourful comments passed around and a few sighs and sobs.

Why?

Harry Potter, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and Sex God (with all the capitals) had supposedly come out the closet.

Meaning he was gay. That he liked… _other guys_.

Katherine Myers, a 5th year Ravenclaw started to sob dramatically on her friend's shoulder, making loud sniveling whimpers as another girl patted her sympathetically on the shoulder.

Further along, Draco Malfoy threw down his goblet in disgust, making the liquid swing upwards violently before spilling onto the long table.

"_Tergeo_." Said Zabini dryly with a flick of his wand, watching the juice disintegrate. "A little pissy today, Draco?"

"Potter's gay? I swear to _God_ that this is another publicity stunt—"

"—and why is this a bad thing?" asked the darker man, raising a smooth brow at the blond. "Something as blatant as this should have you dancing. You've been looking for something to provoke him about. 'Potter is gay' is probably something you have wet dreams about, Malfoy."

Draco tinged and muttered something, picking at the engravings on the goblet. Suddenly he swiveled his head in realization. "You're right. Potter is _gay_."

He rose from the table with a crooked grin, making Pansy and Blaise look at each other, giving each other a wry smile.

------------------------------------------&-------------------------------

The next day, Malfoy was passing out "Potter, you're gay, it's okay" badges to students in the hallways, listening to the giggles and snickers as it flashed rainbow and then a violent neon shade of pink that spelled out "POTTER". Many pinned it to their robes and walked off to their classrooms, all chatter about Potter's new sexuality.

Harry caught sight of them in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Walking into Horncastle's tower (who notably was not there) with Hermione and Ron, he was alarmed to see large groups of people with bright flashing badges, and a few Slytherins having the audacity to wave and then chuckle as he glowered back.

"W-what the hell is this?" He asked Seamus, who had been ordered to unpin his from his robes with a withering glare from Hermione, "what git is distributing these?"

The sandy-haired man grinned, but it disappeared quickly at the condescending look Harry threw his way. He swallowed. "Malfoy, Harry. He's giving these around like the bloody Leprechauns and their galleons."

"Malfoy?" repeated Harry, the name coming out in a near-hiss as the Gryffindor's teeth clenched painfully.

"Um," Seamus managed, voice rising in slight panic, "yeah."

Ignoring Hermione's pleas, he strode over to the Slytherin desks. There were rises of "Oooh" as he approached. Several students grinned, giving Harry a nasty sneer as he came up to Malfoy's desk. The blond nodded to his cronies, then turned to give his trademirk smirk to the Gryffindor Seeker.

"Morning Potter? Get any action last night? The whole school's talking about it."

Harry coloured, but whether it was from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell.

"Yeah Malfoy, did you forget? You seemed to enjoy it."

More ooh's. The Slytherin prince shot a glare and a silent command to _Shut up!_ at his housemates, and rose. The two rivals stood dangerously close, and Draco's eyes narrowed in contempt. "Huh, I don't think I look like a Weasel, Potter. Maybe you got confused with who you slept with."

Ron's mouth fell open. Harry's frown deepened.

"No, you're look more like a ferret."

The Slytherin paled, but quickly recovered and flushed in anger. "Piss off, Potter. Go back to your ass-fucking hobby!"

Harry stirred, but he looked away and turned. He'd get Malfoy later.

Draco, surprised by this retraction, blinked, but smirked as the dark-haired man walked away. He followed his movements back to the seats as Horncastle finally entered his class, prattling about some stray owls that had ambushed him in the hallway. The heir did not notice Potter's eyes boring a hole into the back of his skull, lips curling into a knowing smile.

Payback.

------------------------------------------&-------------------------------

Several minutes after the class was released for lunch, Harry lingered around the halls. He was hungry and impatient, but damnit, he needed to wipe that smile off of Malfoy's face. Part of him was pained that he was about to do this, but he had convinced himself that it couldn't be too bad. It would send a stronger message than all the badmouthing in the world.

As Malfoy walked by, Harry grabbed his wrist, pulling him into a small nook where armor had previously lain and muffled his mouth. Obviously, he had been talking to Zabini, who had turned around and found the blond missing.

"What the hell…" grumbled the mocha-skinned man, wiping off some non-existent dust from his robe. "Malfoy ditched me for a meal? Git…"

The pair struggled in the crevice until everyone had left the premises. Taking his sleeve from the Slytherin's mouth, Harry wiped it on his jeans, disgusted with even the slightest stain of spit. _Damnit_.

"THE FUCK, POTTER?" screamed the blond, his cheeks pink and a few hairs falling from his perfectly gelled styling. Harry winced at the sound. _Damnit_, was he actually this whiny? His eyes caught the pale hands reaching for a wand, and he knew he had to do it _now_.

Catching the blond's mouth in his, Harry pushed him back against the wall with a thud. Considering he wasn't being blasted or impaled against an ancient weapon, Malfoy's hand apparently did not reach his wand. The Slytherin's body tensed and eyes widened in shock. Harry grinned into the kiss and dipped a tongue into the other man's mouth, pulling off the badge from the black robes, making a dim clatter as it fell to the ground. The Seeker drew back, stepping onto the fragile emblem, breaking the line of saliva that connected them.

"You enjoy _that_, Malfoy?"

Something told him that he did.

He increased the pressure on his foot, crushing the badge and grinned at the blond, who was wiping his mouth with shaking hands. Malfoy didn't return the look.

------------------------------------------&-------------------------------

"Drake?"

"Mmh?"

"Why aren't you wearing your badge? _You_'re the one that made them."

"I… lost it."

"What? Then find it."

"Potter took it."

"Really? How?"

"Uh. There was a struggle."

"What did he do?"

A pregnant pause.

"…Nothing."


	14. 014: Mirror

**A/N: **Ohohoho, she updates!

With angst. Whut. I dunno. :(

* * *

014**Mirror**

Simply Not.

--

"We're both men, Potter, there is no relationship." The blond's tone was cool, detached. Harry noted the drips of disdain that laced the man's words. He pulled the belt around his hips, threading them through expensive pinstripe. Almost completely dressed, already.

Harry frowns, nervous fingers shuffling the sheets around him. He hates the way Malfoy says it, even if it's true. There is no emotion in that voice, nothing to hint that the man before him was human at all. Draco never stayed.

His heart always stung after the traces of orgasm had ebbed away—the guilt of neglecting others made him wonder if these intimate meetings with the former Slytherin were really worth it.

"We should stop this." replied Harry dully, arms too heavy to reach his wand. "It's becoming a little pointless, right?"

There is no response from Draco when the dark-haired man looks up. He buttons the dress-shirt and casts an ironing spell to make it pristine once more. Finally, the blond turns to the Gryffindor, silver eyes empty and sterile—and shrugs.

"Do what you want."

He hates that gaze. It was neither condescending nor amused, but rather infuriatingly devoid of anything that had been there before. The Gryffindor always notices something, even when the blond man is shivering beneath him. Malfoy's eyes never change.

Harry was simply not the person that Draco wanted to see.

Harry was never the one reflected in his eyes.


	15. 015: Insanity

**A/N: **I hope some crack helps the hurt from the last chapter. XDD Oh my god, my eyes hurt… it's 1:33 AM here. XvX  
Malfoy + Harry are already together in this. :D

* * *

015**Insanity**

Learnt From The Best

--

"Potter, come out!"

"Fuck you Malfoy!"

The blond snorted and gave a wink to a Ravenclaw girl that was whispering to her friend in the stands. She blushes and turns away, her insistent whispers becoming much more squeaky. The Slytherin seeker's broomstick bobbed in the air as he hovered above meters from the changing rooms.

"Right, we already did that. You lost the bet, plain and simple. Now come out!"

"This is fucking insane!"

Annoyance flashed across Malfoy's face—not that the Gryffindor seeker could see it, of course.

"Potter! You're holding up the game, just come out!"

Harry obliged, but he was happy about it. Interested spectators craned their neck to see what was going on, chatter erupting in the stands. Even a few teachers were reaching for their binoculars to see what the commotion was about.

The Gryffindor slipped out sheepishly, his face a violent shade of magenta. Climbing awkwardly onto his Firebolt, Harry flew slowly to the middle of the pitch. The grounds were silent for a few pregnant seconds before someone whistled appreciatively.

"Legs, Harry, legs!"

Everyone turned to the source of the voice – oh, no surprise, Seamus. Harry squints, trying to ignore the echoes of the man's catcall from other houses. The sandy-haired man looks elated, which… is just Seamus. Ron and Hermione look shocked – that's to be expected… McGongall – no way to describe that, though he'd have to remember that look.

He turned back to the referee – oh for the love of _Merlin_… it was Snape.

The one Quidditch match he had to wear a getup for Malfoy… was refereed by Severus-fucking-Snape.

"Interesting apparel, Potter," says the Potions Master snidely and Harry gets the unpleasant feeling that the man is checking him out – augh. "May I inquire how you intend to play a match in a _skirt_?"

Harry looks down at the garment. It's a little short but not short enough to show his golden lion boxers and uh, padding. From there on… nothing until his Quidditch boots—which are an attractive orange that matches the deep verdant skirt like some hideous combination your grandmother might have thought up.

"Professor, I assure you, it's fine." Interrupts Malfoy with a charming smile – Harry wants to tear his head off and eat it. "He has the proper padding for that _area_, all he's lacking are the shin guards."

Gryffindors from the seats boo and hiss as loud as they possibly can, enraged by this – even McGonagall joins in. Okay, Harry was in a skirt – that was weird in the first place, but hell no, this was outrageous!

The blond looks back at the crowd with disinterest. "If it is so displeasing, I will equalize it and give up my shin guards. I believe this is fair? I'll even give Potter a 10 second handicap."

Harry's grip tightens on his broom at the mention. "You _bastard_ – I don't need a handicap. I'll still be a better seeker than you even with a bloody skirt."

Malfoy turns back to Snape with brows raised; he got what he wanted. The man loosens the guards and dumps them unceremoniously in front of the referee. "Potter conforms, Sir, and I was even generous enough to offer a head start. Shall we begin the match?"

The head of house ponders on the idea and Draco doesn't like the way his eyes follow Potter up the field.

Hold up. What? Ew. Seriously.

He blows the whistle though, after a few more not-so-subtle gawks, and the match is on. Draco watches Potter lift off and grins; everyone is following the same gaze. _Perverts_, he muses before scouring the stadium for the tiny golden ball.

He thought he saw a fleck of gold on far side of the goal posts but he isn't sure – the flicker is gone within a blink, so the blond resorts to watching Potter, who seems rather uncomfortable sitting on the broomstick – polished as it is. Their eyes connect for a split second before a flash of gold appears between them. Both seekers react instinctively, speeding towards the Snitch, but it curves sharply to the left before either of them could grab it. They swear simultaneously and Draco decided it was a good time to start a conversation.

"Looking good there, Harry," Says Draco with a vindictive tone, "Started chafing yet?"

"Would you like to check?" asks the Gryffindor seeker with a grin before pointing his broomstick downwards and racing off – the pale man follows with a spurt of speed, watching the green skirt fumble against the wind.

_Red boxers, _the Malfoy thinks with mild disgust, _after all I've taught you, Potter…_

They go on chasing for a while – neither seekers see the small golden ball, but they do circle each other in the arena and exchange various insults between them. The score is at 40 – 40 with both teams playing evenly, with the occasional jeer from the Slytherins whenever a player passed Harry. The man ignores them however; his instincts are wide open for the Snitch – if he won this, not only would he get the cup for Gryffindor for his last year, but it'd also be a kick in the ass for Malfoy.

_The latter was more of a motivation,_ _to be honest_.

There was another flash – this time much closer. Harry dashed, invoking Draco to do the same. Yes! He was going to get it – the stupid ball was hovering in the air and aha, he was going to beat Malfoy and rub it in his _face_—

Something pulled on his skirt.

The man jerked back on his broomstick and felt the snitch's feather fall through his fingers. Harry gasped and turned around in rage at one smirking Draco Malfoy.

"Bastard! I had it! Manhandling is not allowed in Quidditch, you git!" The dark-haired man turned his broom around to face the Slytherin, emerald eyes glittering in anger.

Draco only grins in response, "You were cute, Potter."

"Fuck you!"

The blond blew a kiss before turning around and racing off towards the Gryffindor large goal hoops.

Dean seemed to have missed the little encounter high up, or simply chose not to speak of it. Slytherin was leading now – to Harry's dismay – by 30 points apparently because of some foul business pulled off by their chaser that was just legitimate enough for Snape to ignore. The seeker frowned, circling the stadium a few times. Damnit, this was annoying… He pulled the skirt up, scowling at Malfoy's previous antics. Git…

Another flicker caught his attention – and Harry knew better to hesitate. It seemed the blond man had noticed it too because he was proceeding towards it too, at an alarming speed.

It would just come down to who'd get there first then; Malfoy had gotten a Firebolt for his birthday last year so their speed was pretty much matching. The angle he was coming at was odd – parallel to the ground and horizontal while Harry was coming in at a slope. They were going to crash… shit!

But the Slytherin did something weird – he twisted and flattened his body, arm outstretched to snatch the Snitch. No! With a last burst of speed, Harry closed in, aligning himself with the broomstick, lips skimming Malfoy's by millimeters. The other man's pale eyes widened as Harry pushed his body downwards and wrapped his long fingers around the golden sphere. There were roars as the game ended, and Harry winked as Malfoy fumbled to get back on his broomstick after the shove.

"You played dirty," he spat as the seeker neared him, dusting off his robe.

"I learnt from the best." Replied Harry with a grin, getting off his broom before the whole entire Gryffindor team engulfed him in a smother.

"Indeed," muttered Draco, but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged on his lips.


	16. 016: Gray

**A/N: **O-okay, I… dunno. D: SHUT UP. Angst again. There's a fair amount of his, eh?

* * *

016**Gray**

Expired.

--

Where had the color gone?

Harry no longer knows. He's stuck in a dismal world – one of repetitive, lonely nights and old grief that had not been completely buried. This was what _he_ made. Sometimes, the faces of his friends haunt him in his dreams. The ministry calls them martyrs, but martyrs are just a synonym for 'acceptable loses'.

He doesn't see the world in hues anymore – simply grays, blacks and whites. The color has been siphoned out somewhere, to someplace, and Harry longs to know where it is so he can retrieve them – bring back life to his own.

But no one can resurrect the dead.

Harry has made a comfortable niche for himself in his world – waking up, eating, going to work at the Ministry, coming back, eating, sleeping. He's afraid to change it, really, because if he does, the comfort will end and he'll have to come to terms with what has happened. He'll have to accept it. He doesn't want to do this most of all, because he knows if he realizes what has happened, there will be no escape from the nightmares.

Sometimes he sees Draco's face – these are the nights he cries himself to sleep in breathy gasps and blurry vision. His death was not mourned, he did not have a ceremony; there was no burial. Death Eaters do not deserve burials.

The spell that hits in front of his eyes; there is no laughter or cries or sound, at all. Just a crumple of a body that has long expired. And Voldemort moves on, because to him – Draco Malfoy was never anything in his eyes in the first place.

But he was _everything_ to Harry.

As the coffee mug clinks against the counter, the man thinks quietly – contemplating, wishing.

But no, the dead cannot live again.


	17. 017: Waiting

**RATED: **T for sparse (but heavy) language  
**STATUS OF RELATIONSHIP: **Not together.  
**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **My god, I love using present tense. I actually sort of like this too. –superfail- :x Ok, they're not together in this – I apologize but it would have made things weird. :P

I think I have a Harry-fetish. D; Gah.

* * *

017**Waiting**

Puppet Master

--

"They've captured him, Harry. Malfoy." 

The statement resonates faintly in his mind – Harry doesn't particularly know why. He reads the Prophet after Ron leaves, scanning the headlines, wondering what exactly was wrong with him. He doesn't seem to be able to conjure up any spite for their new prisoner, strangely, and doesn't particularly want to.

He sips his coffee, one hand cupping the mug and the other holding up the paper, reading languidly. There's nothing particularly fascinating going on – Bellatrix's body was found yesterday, behind the Riddle house – McNeal confessed to being under the Imperius Curse and the Wizengamot were reviewing his case. The war was slowly coming to an end, loose ends – death eaters – were being hunted and taken to Azkaban or put on trial to reveal more names.

Malfoy, no doubt, would get a trial. The man is a coward but he has information – the courts will excuse him in exchange for whatever enlightenment he can cough up. Harry's blood doesn't boil at this, but maybe it's because he's expected it all along.

He isn't sure he should share this speculation with Ron however; the Weasley was still mourning the death of Hermione six months after. Malfoy had no direct responsibility for her passing but he knows Ron still blames the former Slytherin, just for being a Malfoy and for being a Death Eater and just… being.

Harry takes another gulp, putting down the Daily Prophet with an air of disdain. It's been this way for a while now, ever since he confronted Voldemort and the Lord was defeated – that unsatisfied, hazy feeling that accompanies him like a fog. What do you do when you've fulfilled your life's purpose?

He was born to defeat Voldemort, and now that he's done so… To be quite honest, everything felt… a little pointless? He was not _happy_ as he thought he would be after the Dark Lord's defeat, and Harry starts noticing things he hadn't before – like how Ron's smile doesn't reach his eyes or how Ginny's hands linger on his shorter and shorter every time or how everyone stiffens when he walks into the room. It's a little eerie, but he doesn't know the reason behind it and has no incentive to find out.

He gets up, spilling a few drops of coffee onto the table as he sets the mug down. Harry reckons he'll go visit Malfoy – perhaps one last time, if the man gets sent away. He thinks he's insane, but the notion is better than sitting at the kitchen table and rotting away.

---------------------------------------&----

With a faint crack, Harry appears at the Ministry. Malfoy should be here – in one of the holding cells, before trials. He asks a witch at the counter but she frowns and refuses, but hastily re-evaluates her decision when she looks up and recognizes those emerald eyes and the faint scar. She contacts Minister Scrimgeour and asks for permission; he grants it grudgingly. Why wouldn't he? Harry saved the world, after all – and all he wanted was to see Draco Malfoy. It was a small price to ask, Harry knew.

He's taken to the crypt of the Ministry – the place is dark and dingy, and it plays knots with Harry's stomach as he is directed to follow the steps downwards. He does so, but his stomach becomes ever more persistent as he travels, the smell of blood and various other bodily fluids hangs in the air even though Harry knows various _Tergeo_'s and cleaning spells have been used. He doesn't see Malfoy before the convict sees him, and there is a sharp intake of breath as the Death Eater recognizes Harry's face.

"Potter?"

"Malfoy."

There's a pregnant pause; Harry presumes the man is in shock.

A faint snarl proves him wrong though, as Malfoy attempts to stand, rattling the magicked shackles around him. "Come here to laugh at me, have you? Rub it in my face that the Dark Lord's been defeated? That we lost?"

Harry wonders faintly why the man's hackles have risen so quickly. He watches Malfoy behind the bars, the Slytherin's silver eyes flickering in disgust.

He looks rather reminiscent of a bird in a cage. It would be beautiful in any other situation, would have been beautiful if Harry was not the onlooker.

"No," replies Harry quietly, "not quite."

The Gryffindor draws closer to the bars, clutching them in calloused hands, and the blond frowns, puzzled. Harry can see him closely now, the dirt and soot and blood smeared across the high cheekbones and brow. He looks tired and worn out and just _possibly_ – on the verge of tears.

Harry wants to pity him but stops before he can. Not for any malicious reasons however – he knew Malfoy deserved the pity – but simply because he also knew that Malfoy did not _want_ it. His dignity seemed to already have been punctured and broken and Harry did not want to touch the fragments in fear of hurting himself in an attempt to piece it back together.

Draco watches him in return, silently trying to dissect his brain, but Harry knows he won't be able to do it. The savior's changed too much for Malfoy to comprehend – he'll still be expecting the hot-headed self-righteous wizard who stepped out of Hogwarts so many years ago to vanquish evil and protect his friends and all the naiveté that could be earned at that age.

It's gone though – _he's_ gone, but he doubts the Death Eater will miss it. Though, in retrospect, Harry wonders if he does too.

There is a terse silence, where Draco stops and thinks, leering at Potter. It was suspicious that he had come – even for a 'casual' visit – but instinct told him that Potter held no malice in this call. But instinct or no – it was still the truth that Potter usually caught him in the worst situations, but even those seemed so petty compared to the realism of the situation now – both of them have 'grown up' and matured; Draco can't help but think it might not have been for the best.

"Potter, why are you here?"

He breaks the silence grudgingly – it was an unspoken battle and he just lost, but his curiosity held a higher priority at the moment.

Harry pauses and licks his chapped lips. "I don't really know, Malfoy." His tone is soft but a devoid of emotion, and Draco is startled by such emptiness because that sort of hollowness should not belong to Harry Potter. "I have nothing else to do… my life's purpose has been fulfilled."

"So you came because you were _bored_?" asks the heir with barely masked petulance, "don't fucking _insult_ me, Potter. Get out. I don't need your boredom or your pity or whatever the hell you're bringing."

"I don't think I have enough to give to you," says Harry with a small smile – it makes Draco shiver, and wonders why the smile's warmth does not transfer to the man's eyes, "Have they set a trial date for you yet?"

Draco shrugs reflexively, "They may have. I have no interest in indulging them or revealing anything, however."

"You don't?" Harry's voice lilts slightly with mild surprise; perhaps Draco Malfoy is not as much of a coward as he thought?

"If I go to Azkaban, that's my prerogative," replies the blond casually, with a hint of the cocky reproach that had been his trademark in their Hogwarts years, "I won't be groveling for my life."

"No doubt you've had enough practice at that, already."

Malfoy's eyes narrow dangerously – this conversation was quickly intruding on sacred ground. "Your mannerisms are irking me, Potter, what I have done to keep myself alive is no business of yours."

There is a light sigh as Harry exhales, giving Malfoy the full onslaught of one of his exasperated glances. "You're right, it isn't. But anyone that comes in here and takes a look at you sees you as a broken doll whose puppet master abandoned it. You can't even deny that, can you?"

The Death Eater says nothing for a moment, as if deciding his response carefully.

"Fine, I won't deny it. But really, Potter, who's more broken… you, or me?"

The question hits with wicked precision, but he expects no less from Malfoy.

"I'll leave it up for interpretation," replies Harry softly, and he straightens, ready to leave. Malfoy watches him with crude fascination – he's wondering who stole Potter's body and replaced his soul with this smiling shell – and grips the bars in confusion as the Gryffindor turns to leave.

"Good luck," whispers Harry and Draco frowns when he hears it, because he cannot for the life of him discern whether Potter is being serious or not. It frustrates him because he knows he used to be able to read Harry Potter like an open book.

The Death Eater's lungs burn as Potter's back disappears from his view and for a split second he's back in 6th year, in the girl's bathroom with Myrtle's croons and his own sobs filling his ears. But then another second later, he's back to being Death Eater Malfoy, crouching in his cell, waiting and contemplating what the hell went wrong with his life.

---------------------------------------&----

Harry has an amusing feeling of déjavû as he re-enters the kitchen a few weeks later. He sits down with the Prophet as Ron throws objects at the wall in rage and sips his coffee casually, the hot liquid occasionally scalding his tongue. He doesn't notice the short burning sensation of course, when he reads the headline.

'_DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY RELEASED IN TRIAL: FOUL PLAY OR TRUE INNOCENCE?_'

The man smiles and turns to page three to read further.

He had known all along, hadn't he?


	18. 018: Keeping a Secret

**RATED: **T  
**STATUS OF RELATIONSHIP: **You can decide :)  
**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I LIKE GINNYBASHING. IT'S A FAVORITE PAST TIME OF MINE. :( Please don't kill me. I actually liked Ginny; she was one of my predominantly favorite girl chars in HP. But sorry Ginny, Draco's prettier than you any day. :(

H/D corrupts, I tell you.

* * *

018**Keeping a Secret**

Pensive

--

Ginny Weasley was having a very good day.

Well, technically, _every_ day with Harry Potter was a good day, because, you see, Ginny was very convinced Harry would be popping a proposal any time now. They had done everything to lead up to it – hell; Harry had even mentioned rings once in their conversation, and what type she liked and diamond sizes and enchantments and etcetera. Such talk made her jumpy and happy, but most of all, a little expectant as well. He himself had a very attractive silver band that he kept on his left hand, middle finger – Harry never told her the reason for it, but it looked good with him so Ginny had learned to not ask – couples needed to have a few secrets. She bustled around the house happily, making sure the pots were cleaning themselves and the place was at least acceptably clean. She didn't like the notion of dustless perfection, but having an eating area that didn't make her gag every time she stepped into it was a good idea too.

The doorbell rang, and the woman perked slightly. They weren't expecting anyone, were they? Maybe it was another one of Harry's presents – he sometimes bought spontaneous gifts for her.

She went to the front door and opened it, expecting some sort of owl tapping at the window or something equivalent.

Instead, she got Draco Malfoy.

They started at each other for a few seconds – Ginny was speechless with shock.

"Umm… Weasley… you're home," he started, suddenly looking a little sheepish. "Is Potter around?"

Ginny shook herself, instead, opting to scowl. "Why?"

"I need to have a word with him." Replied the former Slytherin coolly, regaining his composure.

"Are you sure he needs to have a word with _you_?" asked Ginny, feeling a thread of contempt snaking into her voice. Although Malfoy hadn't done anything particularly malicious to her – except for that comment in her first year in Flourish and Blotts, which she wrote off as foreshadowing anyways – she knew he had harassed her brother, Harry and Hermione much more, and found it a little hard to be civil to Malfoy, especially since he seemed to have randomly apparated at their door.

"I'm sure." Said Draco shortly, raising a thin brow at her. "Lack of common courtesy runs in the blood, I see."

Ginny stiffened, but decided to let it go. She frowned and grudgingly opened the door wider. "Would you like to come in?"

"It'd be a pleasure," replied the man with a smirk as he walked in and slipped off expensive shoes, seating himself on the loveseat in their living room, admiring (or perhaps cringing at, one could never tell with him) the décor.

The redhead climbed the stairs and shouted, "Harry! Malfoy's here to see you!", but hoped he couldn't hear her message through his shower, before descending back downstairs. She gave Malfoy a painful smile before offering some treats, which he disdainfully refuses.

"Tea, then?" asked the woman, trying again.

Draco looked thoughtful for a second; tea sounded rather nice actually.

"Earl Grey please, with a squash of lemon if you have it."

Ginny went to the kitchen to prepare it, tempted to add some nasty potions or veritaserum into the mix, but decides against it; Malfoy could probably detect it, being the snake he is.

She hands him the cup, which he takes with freezing politeness and sits opposite from him, both giving each other equally curious and condescending glances across the coffee table. Ginny notes, with alarming realization, as he sips the tea languidly, that Malfoy has a band that looks suspiciously similar to the one Harry has; it's silver and ornate and wraps around his right hand, middle finger. She didn't exactly realize what was going on – but her suspicions have been raised.

What did Harry and Malfoy have?

Ginny knew Harry's moral code, though, in and out. He was a little rash sometimes, said things that were stupid or unreasonable, but he always apologized afterwards, and she knew Harry would never cheat on her - especially not with _Draco Malfoy_. It wasn't right.

But looking at the man seated across her… she wasn't so sure anymore.

She doesn't like him, but no one can deny Malfoy is good looking. The blonde hair, the eyes like ice, the aristocratic features – he seemed impeccably elegant but dangerous, with an acidic tongue and a subtle, caustic temper.

Harry comes downstairs in a mad dash, fumbling with his glasses, hair still dripping and clothes plastered to his skin from lack of a towel to dry himself off. His eyes wildly scanning around…

_For who?,_ wondered Ginny silently, _Malfoy or me?_

Draco sputters a little, and puts down the tea that was definitely not Earl Grey. His eyes held Harry's for a few seconds before he looked away into the teacup, trying to think about anything but Potter's eyes following him.

Harry smiled a little – something that concerns Ginny to no end – but sits down in the seat between them both.

"Malfoy," he said with disturbingly less scorn that the woman had expected, "what do you need?"

"The ministry wants your input," replied the Slytherin with a hiss as Ginny tries to collect his cup with shaking hands, "on who should be appointed the new Minister of Magic since Scrimgeour's gone. Some are even recommending you."

Harry blanched – the idea doesn't particularly appeal to him. "Are you serious? Me?"

Ginny watched them from the kitchen, wondering when Harry ever made friends with Malfoy. She didn't recall them ever speaking civilly in Hogwarts - she specifically remembered their hostility; neither could she remember a time afterwards that Harry had greeted him kindly, even after the war. Their matching rings twinkle slightly in the afternoon light, and Ginny feels a little nauseous. She can't seem to stop shaking, and her hands fiddle nervously with the wooden bracelet she received from Harry himself just a few weeks ago.

Then they rise – Ginny rushes back to the living room, afraid of missing something. Malfoy's leaving – thank Merlin, but… Harry's following?

"Harry, where're you going?" asked the redhead quizzically, trying to keep the panic from her voice. Malfoy pauses, and both of them stare at him, as if he's making an epic decision.

"To the ministry," replies Harry with a smile, and Draco grins because he knows he's lying through his teeth, but looks to his girlfriend to see if she believes it.

She smiled weakly; what else could she do? Their smiles were too intimate, too _synchronized_ for her not to realize something, but she couldn't stop them. "Um – alright then, just be back for supper?"

Ginny hated how motherly she sounds, because it's not the tone she wants to take with her boyfriend.

They leave, and Ginny moves upstairs to the guest bedroom to watch them. The ledger in front of the porch shelters them, and she could see the two standing them for a bare second, and Ginny wonders how _she_ became the spectator. As they step out, she watches in horror as Malfoy's lips flit across Harry's – _her_ Harry's – and how the former Hero doesn't even blink in return, but smiles like it's a joke. They apparate away, and all she's left with is this horrible burning sensation in her chest.

She hopes it's all just a joke.

Because Harry would never _ever_ cheat, right?

But when Harry returns to the house that night with a small, pensive smile and fingers that linger too long on the kitchen counter, Ginny knows she's been wrong all along.


End file.
